


and i can't believe you couldn't see it coming from me

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Getting Together, House Being House, Internal Monologue, Kissing, M/M, Morning After, Relationship Study, Trans James Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 05:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18423339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Wilson wakes up in House's bed with a throbbing headache.





	and i can't believe you couldn't see it coming from me

**Author's Note:**

> for tropebingo w/ the square 'fluff', for fluffbingo w/ the square 'coffee' and genpromptbingo w/ the square 'confessions'
> 
> title from _the kids aren't alright_ by fall out boy, which is the hilson anthem dont @ me. 
> 
> enjoy!

House is a fixed point in Wilson's life, and has been so for the last almost twenty years. Anything that can happen between them is always expected and unsurprising; he knows House well, like the back of his hand or the diagnostic signs for rarer types of cancer.

Nothing about House surprises him anymore— the jokes, the backhanded compliments, the strange medical decisions, his ridiculous intellect.    


House doesn't surprise him anymore, and he swears by that. No amount of weirdness or quirkiness or downright nastiness would make him do any more than a brow raise by now.    


* * *

Wilson wakes up with a headache. Which is usually a normal occurrence, with his days filled with work and House and his patients who he can only have so much empathy for. He runs out of it eventually, as much as no one would believe him if he told them that.

But the headache immediately is followed by nausea and everything being too bright, and he realizes this is a hangover. Images from last night come through in bits and pieces— House calling him while at a bar, cracking jokes while sipping scotch, doing a toast for their friendship of sorts. A very strange friendship, granted. He still thinks many people believe he puts up with House because he's just that kind.

He tries to get more comfortable in the bed, closing his eyes tight, when he notices the mattress dipping underneath him isn't like his own at all. His own is a lot more hard and uncomfortable.    


He groans and cracks open an eye, rolling up to whoever he slept with. He's never been a fan of casual sex— it lacks intimacy, and that's one of the big appeals of sex for him. But it still happens from time to time, a gorgeous woman in his arms or a handsome man sweeping him off his feet at the bar, chatting him up. He leans into the person, and realizes he's a man. Nice arms. He pulls himself closer, brushes his thigh against the man's own, and he recoils hard like he's been burned.    


Wilson blinks and opens his eyes slowly, and he sees House, hands firm around the pillow, his face lacking any stress or hostility, quiet snores leaving his mouth.    


He inhales, trying to put his thoughts in any sense or order. The hangover makes even thinking hurt, makes his head throb. He focuses on House’s bare chest, and how he’s just so relaxed.

And he thought his friendship (his  _ relationship _ ?) with House couldn't surprise him by now.

He stays there, awake and lying in wait, as House sleeps. He's always found House handsome, of course— he always had the nagging suspicion that his best friend isn't straight, just like he isn't either. But he'd never made any work to confirm that feeling, and he had never considered they'd en up in bed together at some point in time. It's stupid, surreal, and at the same time  _ expected _ .

Did everyone see this coming except himself?

He wraps himself around House, resting his head on his chest and waiting until he inevitably wakes up.

House does, eventually. He yawns and tries to stretch, but finds his hand in Wilson's hair.

Wilson looks up at him, and House stares right back before starting to level his environment. To realize just where he is, what's going on. His bare chest, Wilson, the bed.

“Oh,” House says, locking eyes with Wilson once again.

“Oh?” he echoes, raising a brow and looking at him. He's too bright. He needs to sleep the hangover off before having a long  _ what are we? _ talk.    


“Finally,” House mumbles, pressing a kiss to the top of Wilson's head. “Morning.”   


He smiles nervously. “Morning,” he says right back. “Can we talk about…” he waves his hands around, “ _ all this _ after I sleep through my hangover?”   


House laughs and afterwards grimaces, closing his eyes tight, gripping Wilson's shoulder tightly. “Of course,” he says. “Although I'll go get some Vicodin in a second.”   


Wilson smiles and pulls away a little. “Of course,” he says, “just come back to holding me quick.”   


He snorts and straightens up, searching through his nightstand. “You're gay.”   


“Bi, in fact.”

House gives him a small smile and takes a bottle of pills from his nightstand, rattling it before taking two and downing them dry. “Mm. Me too.”

“No one can fake attraction to women that well,” Wilson says. “Also, drink some water, my throat hurts looking at you.”   


“The James Wlson brand of caring too much is showing,” he says as he straightens up again and takes some sips from a water bottle. “Not that there's moments it doesn't show.”   


Wilson groans. “Shut up and keep holding me, asshole."

“With pleasure,” he says, laying back down and taking Wilson in his arms, curling up next to him.

Wilson smiles. “Night, House.”

Another kiss to the top of his head. “Night, Wilson.”

He can get used to this. 

* * *

When he wakes up again, everything isn't too bright anymore, and his head doesn't hurt as bad. He turns and tries to get a hold of House, but finds his side of the bed is cold. He grumbles— he hasn't quite gotten to cuddle with House as much as he'd like to yet.

He straightens up and turns to see a note on the nightstand, in House's unmistakable (and surprisingly clean and readable) handwriting.  _ Painkillers @ kitchen. _

He smiles a little and straightens up, his head throbbing at the sudden movement, but he takes a deep breath and ignores it as he goes off to the kitchen.

House is there, sitting down and leaning against one of the kitchen islands. He's got a coffee mug in his hand, taking small sips of it. His shirt rides down and past his hips.

"Hey," Wilson says, stepping inside.    


He hums and takes another sip. "Hey."   


"I..." He heads in and serves himself some water, taking the painkillers with it. He turns to the coffee machine in the corner and starts working it. He looks at House a little apologetically. "I need caffeine in my system before talking."   


House scoffs and downs the rest of his coffee. "Do we really need any talking?" he says.

Wilson blinks. They do, right? Nothing about this is clear, really. Are they going to pretend this didn't happen? He blurts out, "Excuse me?"   


"We fucked," he says, " _ and _ we've been friends for nearly twenty years."

If House offers for it to be an arrangement of sorts, he'll scream. He doesn't want to deal with the mere concept of it. He doesn't know what he wants, really— but the 'friends with benefits' idea makes his stomach sink down, something unfurling with a desire for something greater than  _ friends who have sex _ . A hunger he hasn't quite noticed before.

He draws in a sigh, his nerves still on end at the idea. He wants this conversation to be over, no matter how well or how badly it'll end.. "Get to the point, House," he tells him. Anxiety is overcoming him, and he isn't sure what he's even anxious about.

"Well," House starts, "I haven't dated anyone since Stacy for a reason."

_ Cryptic bastard _ . Wilson rubs his eyes with his knuckles and takes more sips of his coffee.

"Are you deflecting? I'm tired of you deflecting."   


"This is as blatant as my crypticness is gonna get," he replies with a small, shit-eating grin. Wilson wants to kiss it off him, he wants to hold him and,  _ oh _ . Oh. That's the hunger he's noticed just now.    


"You..." He swallows. "You haven't dated anyone else because of—" The idea sounds ridiculous. For all he knows, House hasn't dated anyone else because of the trust issues caused by Stacy's decision. For all he knows, House has just given up on the dating scene. It can't be because of this, of all things. "—Because of me?"   


House nods slowly, patiently, like Wilson is a little kid being explained how to tell left from right.

"Really?"

"Wilson." He steps closer to him and puts a careful hand on his side. Not too high up but not too low. "You're an idiot."   


He chuckles and finishes his coffee, putting it on one of the kitchen islands. House stares down at him, this small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.    


Wilson imagines a picture-perfect life with House. Granted, that's never happening in real life; he's always going to be a douche with a slight death wish and a lot of carelessness. But he still pictures it all— moving in together, dinner together, laughing as they watch TV.

With that he realizes he's been basically in a relationship with House for longer than he's ever thought about.

"House," he starts, and he leans in to kiss him. He can't see it but he knows House is smiling smugly against his mouth as they go in. Wilson opens his mouth first, whimpering softly when House pushes in, kisses him harder and hungrier, like he's his last meal on death row.    


Wilson ends up with his back against the kitchen door, panting hard. "House..." He catches his breath, his head spinning. "Do you remember anything after the bar last night?"

House makes a noise and kisses him again, his brows furrowing in focus. After a few seconds, he says, "I remember you on top of me."

"But was I fucking you or riding you?"   


House snorts. "Unless you brought a strap-on to our hookup, I think you were riding me."

Wilson pulls him into another kiss, shaking his head.

"So," he starts, "Are we dating now?"   


"Mm," House agrees into his mouth, nodding a little. "I'd like to think so."

"Good." He kisses his cheek, has the stubble rub against his clean shave. "Are you allergic to I love you's, by any chance?"   


House's face visibly brightens (he hasn't heard those words in a while, maybe; maybe he's just desperate for the affection Wilson is ready to give him). "I'm not allergic to _that_ , no." He tries to go back to his deeply smug, unfeelint persona. "Anything to tell me, Wilson?" he says with a crooked, lopsided grin, eyes glinting wickedly.

Wilson bites his lip and presses a chaste kiss to House's throat, down to his collar, then up again. His Adam's apple bobs up and down a little. He pulls away and looks up, still unsure if to say it. What if House goes back to his shell?    


"I love you," he finally manages to say, focusing more on House's clothes than on his perfect, perfect blue eyes. It's a ratty old shirt, a bit stretched out. He looks nice on it, bur also stupid. He looks up at him and smiles. "I love you," he repeats, this time keeping his gaze trained on House's breathtaking ice-blue eyes, the way they warm up as he looks at Wilson.    


A small smile appears on House's lips. "Me too," he whispers, and Wilson wonders if he'll ever be able to say it back. He wants to hear those words from House's mouth, directed at him, but he doesn't want to press him. He knows love isn't all about just repeating that phrase over and over.    


House turns to the oven and hums, as if weighing his options. "I think I'll cook lunch today."

And Wilson knows as a fact that he doesn't need House to say it back. He's got his own way of expressing the emotions he loathes with a passion. 

Wilson smiles at him and wraps his arms around his middle. "That sounds great. I'll go back to sleep for the time being."   


House takes the coffee mugs and puts them in the dishwasher before turnint back to the oven and to Wilson. He smiles and messes up Wilson's hair. "You should. You'll wake up to the best damn pasta you've ever had in your life."

Wilson chuckles. "I'll hold you up to that promise!" he exclaims.

House laughs softly.

Wilson turns around and slips back into House's bedroom. He notices more than he did before; how messy it is, clothes all over the place, the nightstand clearly needing to be cleaned. Practically begging to be cleaned.

Wilson ignores it and flops back down into House's bed, wraps himself on the blankets and rests his head on the same pillow House was clinging onto before he woke up.

He stays still, with his heart light, and with the knowledge that he and House have taken the next step after all in his mind.

He falls asleep as he hears House turning the oven on.


End file.
